


Take note

by Havokftw



Series: A penny for your thoughts. Five bucks if they're dirty. [5]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bottom Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Cameras, Collars, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sugar Daddy, Teasing, Top Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, businessman Seungcheol, camboy Lee Jihoon, sugar Baby Lee Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: No wonder Seungcheol is treating him like a kid. Jihoon knows he is acting jealous and immature, but being confronted with another man making himself at home in Seungcheol’s space is disturbing.





	Take note

Some days, Seungcheol really regrets giving Jihoon his work phone number.

Come to think of it—he never _actually_ gave Jihoon his work phone number in the first place.

Jihoon helped himself to it when Seungcheol wasn't looking, probably so he can have someone to annoy when he's bored in class.

He's currently using the 'strictly for emergencies only' number to send Seungcheol a series of pictures with a clear, underlying theme: _collars._  

If he's hinting at something, he's certainly unsubtle about it.

After more of the same (a lot more) Seungcheol decides to get straight to the point, for both of their sakes.

Seungcheol doesn't know why Jihoon just doesn't _buy_ himself one.

He has an allowance and freedom to spend it--though Seungcheol's beginning to suspect that Jihoon views his allowance as less like an earned income and more like a high-interest bank loan; one which he'll be expected to pay back suddenly and without warning.

The camboy is _so_ reluctant to spend anything without informing Seungcheol of his intentions in advance, often in excruciating detail and accompanied by at least ten independent reviews for the product in question. 

Jihoon may be a lot of things, (short tempered, stubborn, mischievous) but he's definitely not spoiled.

With his curiosity piqued, Seungcheol does his own search for collars. He browses through the selection on the first website he finds, arranged 'Price Highest-to lowest' and stops scrolling when he finds one that catches his eye.

Saving the picture, he sends it to Jihoon.

* * *

 

“Cheol?” Jihoon pushes through the door to Seungcheol’s office and stops when he realizes the man sitting in Seungcheol’s chair is—not Seungcheol. “Uh—who are you?”

“I could ask you the same question.” The dark-haired man drawls.

He looks to be about Seungcheol’s age, tall and slim, with the dark hair and dark eyes, stylish glasses.

The man looks Jihoon up and down appraisingly. It looks like it might hurt him to smile.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Jihoon demands. He glares at the man, scanning him. There is no evidence of a break in, but Jihoon doesn’t like the fact that there is a strange man in Seungcheol’s study, and Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s making a call. In the boardroom.” The man looks down dismissively and taps a few keys on the laptop.

Jihoon feels a slight surge of anger.

Seungcheol treats his laptop like it’s a very expensive pet with an exceptional pedigree. Jihoon isn’t even allowed to use it without Seungcheol peering over his shoulder just in case Jihoon accidentally sends his entire contact list pictures of his dildo filled asshole or something. It’s ridiculous. Of course, that over the shoulder peering usually results in Seungcheol nibbling at his neck, which leads to ... other things.

“Seungcheol doesn’t let people use his laptop,” Jihoon points out. Okay—that did sound petulant.

“I’m not people.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Wonwoo.” Seungcheol’s voice comes from the doorway. He walks in and claps a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. “It makes you sound pretentious. _More_ pretentious.”

The man at the desk shrugs and gives a half-smile. Jihoon looks back and forth between the two of them.

“Jihoon, this is Jeon Wonwoo. Wonwoo, Lee Jihoon.”

“I assumed that,” Wonwoo says, tapping a few more keys before shutting the laptop. He doesn’t vacate Seungcheol’s chair. “Very nice.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, “Don’t expect a proper greeting from Wonwoo. He isn’t properly house-trained.” He says, moving over to the bar.

“Well, at least I don’t _snore_.” Wonwoo says dryly.  

Jihoon is surprised to see the two of them break into wide grins.

God, this is too weird.

Who the hell is this guy who can apparently touch Seungcheol’s laptop without repercussions and knows that Seungcheol snores? And _just how the hell_ does he know that Seungcheol snores?

Jihoon feels a stab of jealousy. He and Seungcheol haven’t been together that long. He knows Seungcheol has had other lovers, but he never really has had to face one before. Especially one that looks so damn handsome in a suit.

“So, Wonwoo—what is it that you do?” Jihoon asks, suspicious.

"Wonwoo’s an old friend. He’s in town for a few days to—uhm—we have a lot to catch up on," Seungcheol says, and he makes it sound as if that involves an endless amount of lewd and dirty things that Jihoon really doesn't want to be thinking about right now.

Wonwoo accepts the glass of scotch that Seungcheol hands him. Their hands touch for a moment, and Jihoon thinks they share a look.

Jihoon doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like Wonwoo at all.

“I’ll have a drink too, Seungcheol,” Jihoon huffs.

Seungcheol turns around and fixes him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you have class in the morning Dumpling?”  

Jihoon grits his teeth.  Seungcheol is treating him like a kid, and he is doing it in front of a complete stranger. Wonwoo seems to be smiling into his drink, and Jihoon feels his face grow hot.

“Yeah—I do.” Jihoon turns to leave. “I should go.”

“Jihoon, wait.” Seungcheol darts an apologetic glance at Wonwoo. Somehow that makes everything worse.

Jihoon is already out in the hallway when he feels Seungcheol’s hand on his arm.

“Hey, don’t go,” Seungcheol says softly. He reaches up and tangles a hand in Jihoon’s hair. “You just got here. I haven’t even had a chance to say hello.”

When he leans in for a kiss, Jihoon doesn’t feel like cooperating. He feels teeth tug at his lip and turns his head aside.

Seungcheol steps back. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?” His eyes are full of concern. He cups Jihoon’s face in his hands. “Jihoon. What’s going on?”

Jihoon shakes his head.

No wonder Seungcheol is treating him like a kid. He knows he is acting jealous and immature, but being confronted with another man making himself at home in Seungcheol’s space is disturbing. He’s never known anyone to be allowed in Seungcheol’s personal space the way that Wonwoo seems to be. Except for him—and that scares him.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jihoon says, shaking free of Seungcheol’s grip. “Like you said—I have class in the morning. Just stopped by to say hey.”

Seungcheol meets his eyes and takes a step closer. Jihoon has to stop himself from backing away. For a moment it seems like Seungcheol doesn’t buy it, but his face shifts from interrogatory focus to something soft and slack and wistful, almost within a bare second.

“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you later this week?” Seungcheol asks hopefully.

“Yeah, maybe.” Jihoon says over his shoulder, with a quick smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

He leaves with Seungcheol’s confused frown burned into his memory and feeling a sad sense of triumph.

* * *

 

“He’s cute.” Wonwoo says as soon as Seungcheol re-enters the office.

“Don’t sell him short Wonu,” Seungcheol says in his 'give me a break' tone. “He’s _gorgeous_.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “We’ve always had a difference in taste.”

“You mean I have taste and you consistently lack it? Yeah, you’re right.” Seungcheol offers dryly.

Wonwoo laughs, tight and sarcastic. “ _There’s_ that insufferably competitive streak of yours. I was beginning to wonder who you were and what you’d done with the _real_ Choi Seungcheol.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well—you’ve spent most of the day mooning over your sugar-baby on your phone. Then your face lights up like the _sun_ when he arrives, and I never, ever thought I’d see the day where Choi Seungcheol ran after someone. He’s changed you." Wonwoo’s tone is accusing.

Seungcheol scoffs. “No, he hasn’t.”

“He’s the background wallpaper on your phone and you call him your soft, squish dumpling.” Wonwoo points out, arching a brow and daring Seungcheol to dispute the fact. “I’ve known you for years Cheol, that’s not something you do.”

Seungcheol matches Wonwoo's raised brow, feeling a frown taking shape on his face.

 _Has he changed_?

“It’s not a bad change.” Wonwoo continues in Seungcheol’s thoughtful silence. “You’ve mellowed out, you’re a lot more relaxed, nicer to be around. And despite the total jailbait vibe I got from him at first glance—you make a handsome couple.”

Seungcheol stiffens. “Couple?”

Wonwoo’s hard eyes snap to his. “That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol feels his heart start to beat faster. “We haven’t really discussed that. It’s more of an _arrangement_ at the moment. We have rules—a contract, and that was mostly his idea. I don’t think he’s thought beyond that. I don’t think _I’ve_ thought beyond that.”

Wonwoo looks away, his lips in a thin, pensive line. “Well—maybe you _should_ discuss it. Before things get more complicated. And they are _bound_ to get more complicated if you go through with what you’re planning.” He says knowingly, a speculative look on his face. 

Wonwoo's statement doesn't require an answer, and the conversation slips into uncomfortable silence.

“Anyway—” Wonwoo says, stretching his arms and stifling a yawn. “Everything seems to be in order—you still want to go ahead with this?”

Seungcheol flounders for a few blinks before shrugging off Wonwoo’s words. “I do. Make an offer.”

 

* * *

After Jihoon’s regular live [stream](https://78.media.tumblr.com/290f7b57ec68c7ac415bdc584a7dc9f1/tumblr_p6z5rp2rhc1vzsa1po3_1280.gif) on Tuesday—and after he cleans up, he takes a video of him swaying his [ass](https://78.media.tumblr.com/169d629b26a6fe9b464fc93326b4dfb6/tumblr_p6z5rp2rhc1vzsa1po4_1280.gif) and sends it to Seungcheol’s phone.

His _work_ phone.

He hopes Wonwoo is as nosy with Seungcheol’s phone as he is with his laptop, and gets a glimpse of what he’s up against.

A shiver of discomfort ripples through Jihoon's spine.

Seungcheol’s a busy guy—Jihoon understands that completely. Because his day job is essentially being a scary man who scares other scary men into giving him all their sweets or something.

(Jihoon secretly appreciated the layman’s description Seungcheol had given, as Google had been annoyingly vague about what the term ’corporate raider’ actually meant.)

He totally gets that Seungcheol will have business dinners that run late, that he’ll be called away suddenly and that he can't drop everything and hang out with him. Honestly Seungcheol's the first person who's dropped  _anything_  to hang out with Jihoon, and he's still a little stunned about that.

So, Seungcheol and Wonwoo having a late dinner together doesn't really mean anything.

Right?

Not unless they return to Seungcheol’s suite after, and continue talking business late into the night. Then after a few drinks—the couch gets uncomfortable and they move to the bed— _to talk business_. They’re probably talking business right now; rolling around naked and sweaty on a mountain of diamonds, laughing about how much of a loser Jihoon is.

No, no, that last one is truly paranoid.

And that paranoia is only _fed_ the next day, when Seungcheol messages him as he's leaving an afternoon lecture.

Jihoon’s fists clench and unclench as he tries to get his emotions under control. He's thankful his classes are over for the day, because it’s impossible to concentrate with images of what Seungcheol and Wonwoo might be doing to each other flitting across his brain.

* * *

The 'rain check' turns out to be only a day later. 

Jihoon is sitting in the coffee shop staff room, headphones hooked up to his I-Phone, when the music cuts off briefly to signal an incoming message.

Jihoon’s still so irritated about being brushed aside two days in a row, he immediately types a curt message back.

Seungcheol's reply makes Jihoon feels guilty, and he doesn't even know _why_.

* * *

Seungcheol messages him again two days later, on Friday, when he _knows_ Jihoon is free. But he still starts the conversation with:

Lingering anger has Jihoon typing out another abrupt reply:

Seungcheol's reply makes him feel kind of shitty about the whole thing.

Jihoon frowns at the sad smiley face and feels like the worst sugar-baby ever.

He doesn’t want 'sad' Seungcheol—he wants angry, possessive, _passionate_ Seungcheol; barging into his dorm room and demanding to know why Jihoon is being an ass and replying with single syllables. 

Hell, at this stage he'd be happy with ' _rolled up sleeves, time for a lecture Seungcheol'_. _Any_ version of Seungcheol that's broadcasting displeasure over the whole thing would be nice because right now, the lack of reaction is deeply disconcerting.

It makes Jihoon wonder if Seungcheol's still too busy entertaining 'Wonwoo' to even feel Jihoon's continued absence.

* * *

Jihoon tries to forget his sorrows the best way he knows how: sulking in his dorm, pestering Dokyeom and making him feel even sorrier than he is.

“Why isn’t he angrier about me saying no!?” Jihoon whines for maybe the fifth time that evening.

He’s sprawled out on the bed in his dorm, nudging Dokyeom’s desk chair with his foot. He knows it’s annoying—that’s why he’s _doing_ it.

Dokyeom, who’s been up 48 hours straight trying to cram for a test, slowly turns his head to glare at him.

“Maybe because he’s a 30-year-old millionaire business man with more on his mind then the jealous tantrums of a 19-year-old camboy.” Dokyeom says with a hint of sarcasm.

Jihoon glares, petulant, because it's one thing for him to feel he's acting like a lovesick teenager, and it's another to have someone call him on it.

Dokyeom crosses his arms, and looks at the ceiling, and Jihoon can swear he's got the same look on his face Jihoon's mother used to wear when praying for patience. It doesn't help Jihoon's mood.

“Why are you doing this, Jihoon? You wanted to go over the other day—and now he’s asking you to go, but you’re being deliberately awkward. If you miss him this much—go to him.”

Jihoon rolls over to face the wall, back to his roommate. “He’s the one who insisted on the no dating other people rule. So he shouldn’t be allowed to break it.”

Dokyeom sighs long sufferingly. “You don’t _know_ he’s dating this guy. Did you see them kiss, fuck or even hold hands?”

Jihoon refuses to be convinced.

“You didn’t see them together, they clearly had history.” Jihoon breaks in, deep and resentful. “They had this _familiarity_ with each other. One that people don’t have unless they—live together.”

Dokyeom looks at him sympathetically.  “So—go talk to him about it. Air your concerns. I’m sure he’d appreciate you being frank with him, instead of _avoiding_ him.”

Jihoon frowns at the wall. He doesn't want to ask Seungcheol, because he doesn’t want to hear about their past, their _history_. He isn't sure if he has any right to be angry, and somehow that makes everything worse.

“Or,” He says grinning wildly, feeling abruptly, just a little bit reckless. “I could make him jealous _too_ , see how he likes it.”

Dokyeom’s eyebrows shoot up. “No—that’s dumb.”

“Shut up, I’m doing it.” Jihoon waves a hand dismissively.

He reaches for his phone, picks the sauciest picture he can find from his latest shoot, types out a message and hits send.

Seungcheol’s reply is immediate, and understandably puzzled.

Jihoon takes his time replying, letting the moment drag on forever, every tick of time probably excruciating for Seungcheol, which is precisely the point.

Jihoon hits send, smiling devilishly to himself as he sits back to wait.

And _wait._

And wait some more.

“Why isn’t he replying??” He yells, at the phone, at Dokyeom, at the ceiling as he flings himself on the bed dramatically once more.

“What did you send him?” Dokyeom asks.

Jihoon passes him the phone and watches Dokyeom’s eyes saucer before he looks sheepishly away. He hands back the phone, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot. Go fix it. _Now_ —before he _actually_ goes find someone else to fuck.”

Jihoon toes on his converse and walks out the door, stomach tightening with dread.

* * *

Seungcheol sets his cell phone down on the coffee table before he’s tempted to _hurl_ it at the wall.

 _Seriously_?

Did Jihoon just….

Tempted as he is too reply to Jihoon's message, he manages to restrain himself. _Barely._

He gets up, rifling through his suitcase for his packet of cigarettes, trying not to crush the first one he pulls out as he slides open the balcony door.

It’s too cold and wet to be smoking outside in the evenings, but if Jihoon gets even a whiff of cigarette smoke in the suite he’ll be on Seungcheol in a second, showing Seungcheol pictures of blackened arteries and lung bisections and telling him in excruciating detail exactly how Seungcheol is destroying his internal organs with the demons nicotine and tar.

Jihoon’s eidetic memory is both comprehensive and indiscriminate.

Lighting his cigarette, Seungcheol takes a deep drag and sighs in relief.

As an on again—off again smoker, it’s one of the few things that can help him unwind. That and really good sex. He’ll admit to being more on again recently, since work has become more demanding and since Jihoon has been _less_ than accommodating for some reason.

Now it’s quite clear _what_ that reason is.

Seungcheol would like to get to the bottom of this little game he’s playing—because quite honestly, the thought of Jihoon sending sexy pictures privately to anyone else makes him want to kill everyone.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Jihoon was trying to make him jealous.

Wait....no.

That’s _exactly_ what Jihoon’s trying to do.

But.... _why_?

Seungcheol is simultaneously offended and touched.

On the one hand, Jihoon’s using some pretty immature and underhanded techniques to get a reaction out of him, and on the other, clearly his little dumpling has been fretting over something, like Seungcheol himself, has simply too much pride to call it out.

Seungcheol’s anger is tinged with a terrifying relief.

* * *

 

When Jihoon shows up at Seungcheol’s hotel, it has taken him most of the evening to work up his courage, and he is still nervous enough that instead of announcing his presence, he is standing in the hallway, debating the merits of knocking versus turning on his heel and walking out of the hotel.

He’d played the best and worst-case scenarios through his mind on the bus trip here, but that only served to fuel his anxiety, ultimately leaving him frustrated and angry. Which is why he’s standing _outside_ of Seungcheol’s hotel suite like a fool, trying to gather up his nerve.

Finally, fed up with himself, he raises a hand and knocks sharply on the door.

It takes Seungcheol just long enough to open the door that Jihoon has time to go through _all_ the bad scenarios again: where Seungcheol has already left to spend the weekend elsewhere, or has found alternative company and is scrambling to put his pants back on, or will laugh in Jihoon's face the minute he --

"Jihoon," Seungcheol says standing in the doorway, sounding surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

"Expecting someone else?" Jihoon asks suspiciously, putting his hands into his pockets. "Room service?"

_Naked Wonwoo?_

"No, I haven't ordered anything," Seungcheol says, opening the door wider to let Jihoon in.

Jihoon walks over the threshold of the suite and notes that Seungcheol’s pin-neat living space is, well, not messy exactly, but not as ordered as usual. There are papers strewn about over Seungcheol's desk, his laptop is open and scrolling numbers and there’s a bottle of scotch and a single tumbler sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Were you working?” Jihoon asks, pointing at the desk.

"Well—I didn’t have any other plans this weekend. Figured I might as well." Seungcheol says with a weak shrug.

Jihoon nods, feeling chagrined.

Seungcheol was just going to continue working throughout the weekend it seems, just because Jihoon wasn’t around to keep him company.

Jihoon moves to a window, restless, and flicks the closed curtains a little to look outside.

"So," Seungcheol says from behind him. "To what do I owe this pleasure? I thought you weren’t free tonight?"

"I had some free time." Jihoon says, turning to look at him. He doesn't know what shows on his face, but it makes Seungcheol raise an eyebrow.

Jihoon scuffs his shoe on the tile. “I can go, if you’re busy.”

Seungcheol runs his tongue over his teeth and shakes his head. “No—I’m not busy. I was just about to order dinner actually. You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

* * *

 

Dinner turns out to be Capelli d'angelo done al dente with what Jihoon judges to be the best pesto he’s ever had, steamed asparagus and a fruity Pinot Grigio wine.

Jihoon feels a bit of a heel for showing up past dinner time with no offerings, but the food is _so_ good he polishes his plate off in record time, then pouts until Seungcheol shares the rest of his.

He wonders if pouting some more will convince Seungcheol to order dessert.

It _does._

His pout has clearly has magical powers. 

It should probably be used for good, or ending world hunger or something. Not for emotionally blackmailing his sugar daddy into ordering three different desserts, just so Jihoon can pretend to try a bit of each but actually end up devouring all three of them.

After they clear the table, Jihoon lounges back into the couch as Seungcheol does the same; flicking on the television and propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Ten minutes of companionable silence (and one pout to change the channel) later and Jihoon realises Seungcheol has no intention of broaching the topic of the sexy picture sending.

Seungcheol doesn't look slighted in the least, come to think of it.

In fact-he seems pretty _happy_ .

He's leaning back in the couch, one arm thrown over the back, casting glances Jihoon's way every few minutes and sharing a small, private smile with the television.

Looks like Jihoon will have to bring it up himself.

Jihoon eases closer until his mouth is right next to Seungcheol's ear, his fingers curling into Seungcheol’s tie to loosen it slightly.

“Are you angry with me?” he asks in his softest voice.

Seungcheol turns to face him, looking nonplussed.

“Why would I be angry with you?” He says, and his smile is wide and unexpected.

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “Cause I’ve been sending sexy pictures to other guys.”

He watches Seungcheol’s gaze darken, catching the mood.

“ _No_. You take your clothes off and masturbate on camera all the time for other guys. It's how we met. I’m used to it now, so there's nothing for me to be angry about.” He says, turning his attention back to the television.

There’s something in Seungcheol's tone that is not nearly as casual as the expression on his face. Jihoon finds it comforting, although he can't explain why. Seungcheol seems to be the king of mixed signals.

“Well—what if I said it wasn’t just sexy pictures? What If I was meeting up with them and—fricking.” Jihoon asks with a carefully affected nonchalance.

Seungcheol doesn’t shift his gaze from the screen, though he clenches his jaw and a small stain of red creeps up his neck. Proof that he isn't in _total_ control of his emotions.

“Hmm. I thought we _agreed_ you wouldn’t date as one of our rules—but I guess that’s not fair of me to enforce. I have no right to control that aspect of your life—so you go ahead and ‘ _frick’_ who you want.”

Jihoon takes a moment to level a particularly exasperated look in Seungcheol’s direction, but it’s quite obviously lost on him as he’s still not looking.

“Okay then. _Good_. Because I have a date later. And I was going to cancel it, _but_ seeing as you’re _okay_ with it—I’ll just go ahead and meet with him. And have lots of _sex_.” He says, trying to sound casual and failing. He’s well aware that he passed cool and objective about three sentences back.

“Okay. Have fun. Be careful.” Seungcheol says dismissively, seeming oblivious to the sullen undercurrent in Jihoon’s mood. 

Jihoon stares at the side of Seungcheol’s face for an age, completely out of things to say from where he’s backed _himself_ into a conversational corner. He swallows heavily as the import of Seungcheol's words sink in and realises that worse than the thought of Seungcheol dating someone else, is the knowledge that he doesn’t care if _Jihoon_ does.

It hurts a lot more than it should.

Sighing, Jihoon lifts from the seat and grabs his phone of the coffee table, the picture of nonchalance, then walks to the suite door.

* * *

 

He’s half way down the private corridor, aiming for the penthouse elevator and the biggest bottle of vodka he can afford when a firm hand on the crook of his elbow stops him.

Seungcheol spins him around with ease, then backs him against the wall—cages him there with a hand either side of his head.

“Okay—stop for a second. What’s going on? Why are you playing games with me?” Seungcheol says, a hard edge to his voice. “I told you no bullshit, but you’ve been jerking me around all week. Is—is this some kind of game?”

"No, I’m…. it’s not." Jihoon breathes, abruptly unable to meet Seungcheol's eyes.

Seungcheol sighs wearily. An instant later and strong hands are framing Jihoon's face, forcing his head up, forcing eye contact.

“Am I missing something? If you’re looking for us to do some role-play thing—you got to warn me first, tell me what we’re doing. I’m not that perceptive with this kind of thing Jihoon. I can do all the guesswork, but this will be a lot easier if you just tell me what you need.” Seungcheol says, but his voice is full of resignation, not anger.

And oh, it's stupid. He shouldn't. But Jihoon hears himself blurt, “How does he know you snore?”

That gives Seungcheol a visible pause. “What? Who?”

“Your friend _Wonwoo_. How does he know you snore?” Jihoon voice is too loud and it cracks just a little.

Seungcheol blinks at him in shock, then laughs.

“Is that what this is about? You’re _jealous_ —of Wonwoo. _Wonu_?” Seungcheol sputters. “Does he even _look_ like my type?”

 _“How does he know you snore?”_ Jihoon repeats petulantly.

Seungcheol just stares at him, a crease starting to form between his brows. “We’re old friends.”

“ _Just_ friends? Yeah, right. A friend that knows you _snore._ You sure spent a lot of time with him this week. What were you doing?”

Seungcheol looks down, and Jihoon could swear that Seungcheol is on the edge of blushing. That is not typical Seungcheolian behaviour at all. Whatever they _were_ doing seems to have a remarkable effect on Seungcheol’s personality.

“I can’t tell you what I was doing Jihoon. Not when you’re angry with me.”

Oh. Jihoon has a pretty good idea what _that_ means.

“You slept with him. How complicated is that to say?”

Seungcheol sighs and lays a hand on his arm. “I did _not_ sleep with him. I know him because he was my roommate in college for three years. He knows far more about my sleeping habits than anyone should. I’m sure DK could deliver a scientific thesis on your nocturnal patterns, but that doesn’t mean you’ve slept together.”

“Room-mates? He was your room-mate?” Jihoon repeats, understanding dawning on him.

“Yes. In college. That was a thing I did to yanno.”

Jihoon studies Seungcheol’s face, testing the truth of that. “So—you’re not… you didn’t sleep together?”

Seungcheol makes a face and shudders. “Ew, no. It's _Wonu._ He's like nerdy younger brother to me.”

Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief, though he realises that he's taken something innocent and corrupted it in his mind.

He blushes bright red with embarrassment. What a stupid overreaction; a split second of believing Seungcheol had someone else, and he was a mess. “Oh—uhm, that explains everything then. I—uhm…”

He lifts a hand to fiddle with Seungcheol’s tie, hoping they can just gloss over his little hissy fit, only for Seungcheol’s hand to close around his wrist swiftly.

“Oh—I don’t think so, Jihoonie.” Seungcheol says, removing Jihoon’s hand like it’s an intrusion, his expression shuttered. His eyes are black as day old coffee and Jihoon has a fleeting sense of what Seungcheol's business enemies face.

Jihoon’s brow furrows, “Why?”

Seungcheol chuckles and steps into Jihoon’s breathing room, his voice dropping low and husky. “You’re not getting off the hook that easy after _that picture_  stunt. I’m very, very angry. Angry and disappointed.” He says, though he’s stroking his hands up Jihoon's back as he says it.  

He's giving off so many mixed signals, Jihoon doesn’t know whether he’s in trouble or not. He swallows and tries not to let his reaction show. “But, but I didn’t do anything.”

Seungcheol sighs heavily. “Yes, you did. You teased me, _toyed_ with me. And you went against the rules that we _both_ agreed on.”

Jihoon frowns, sliding his arms around himself and slumping against the wall. “But I didn’t actually send those sexy pictures to anyone, and I don’t actually have a date night. I was just making that stuff up to…. _makeyoujealous.”_ He mumbles, blending the words together indistinguishably.

Seungcheol must hear him fine, because something changes in his face, though Jihoon can't read what it is.

“You made it up—to make me jealous?” Seungcheol echoes. Impossible to tell what that is, that tone in Seungcheol’s voice: maybe amusement, but just as likely disgust or offense or mockery. “That’s even worse, Jihoon.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, frustrated, “How?”

“It just is.” Seungcheol says plainly, his mood still indecipherable.

Jihoon wavers, feeling conflicted and desperate, but the challenging quirk to Seungcheol’s brow has him leaning into his chest, curling fingers over his shoulders, an answering challenge rising within him.

Lifting his head just enough to brush his lips over Seungcheol's ear, Jihoon lets his breath out, shaky. "I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again. Please don’t be mad at me. I was just so sad when I thought you were having fun without me, and my imagination went a little overboard.”

There is a momentary pause, as if Seungcheol is weighing whether he wants to say whatever he is thinking of saying next.

"I accept your apology Jihoon. But—words aren’t enough for what you’ve done.” Seungcheol says, shifting closer, a firm hand curling around Jihoon’s waist and gripping his ass with _intent_.

“I'm going to have to teach you some manners first. Daddy has to  _punish_ you." He says, mouth brushing against Jihoon's ear with every syllable.

Jihoon blinks at him, mouth opening and closing a few times.

Is Seungcheol saying what he _thinks_ he’s saying?

It should have sounded stupid, a cliché, but Jihoon doesn't care, is barely able to think, his breath coming short and his skin flushing, “Oh—fuck. _Really_?”

Seungcheol tightens his grip on Jihoon’s ass, swallowing something, a sigh, a growl. "Try to be less excited about it, _please_. It’s _supposed_ to be punishment.” He bites out.

Jihoon squirms against him, whining into his neck. "Sorry—I just, I was waiting for you to suggest this for ages. You can’t blame me for getting excited.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, rolling his eyes not-quite-discreetly.  "Yeah—I knew you would enjoy this too much I’ll have to punish you some other way,"

"No, no! _Please_." Jihoon whispers, winding his arms around Seungcheol's neck and clinging. “I’ll pretend to hate it. I promise. Look—I’m so sad.” He sticks his bottom lip out, putting the magical powers of the pout to a questionable use.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose, feigning exasperation. "You're incorrigible. I shouldn’t encourage this in you."

“You _can_ discourage it—with punishment.” Jihoon murmurs against Seungcheol’s throat, trying to look supremely upset about the whole thing. He half-closes his eyes when Seungcheol slides his palms over his thighs and ass, when he squeezes both cheeks roughly in his huge palms.

Jihoon ducks his head, his cheeks heating up with how much he wants this.

Seungcheol’s smiling now. Easy and smooth and unmistakably affectionate. "I would reduce your allowance if I think it had any effect—but I suspect you don’t even _spend_ the money like a heathen, you probably use it for something sensible—like bills and tuition fees."

“And groceries.” Jihoon adds. "Though I mostly just transfer it to a savings account."

Seungcheol shakes his head in despair, and a hand comes up to touch Jihoon's cheek. It’s more gentle than it should be considering the energy pulsing between them. “Have you bought yourself _anything_ luxurious?”

Jihoon thinks about it for a second and realises, he really hasn’t. He’s been careful with how he spends his money.

“Uhm—I bought a new pair of shoes. Does that count?”

Seungcheol quirks an approving brow. “That depends. Were they extortionately priced?”

Jihoon purses his lips. “There _were_ —but I got them for $55 cause they were discounted in the sale, and I had a coupon too.”

“You’re so resourceful. So fucking sweet.” Seungcheol says, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I’m being _too_ harsh by punishing you.”

Jihoon leans up and presses his mouth against Seungcheol’s before he can think to protest more. For a moment, Seungcheol is still against him, and Jihoon pressed in closer, insistent, desperate. Then Seungcheol gives in—Jihoon can feel it in Seungcheol’s body, like an inhalation, like a surrender –and kisses him back, his hands coming to hold Jihoon, one at the small of his back, the other cupping the side of his face.

"Please, Cheollie. I’ve been so bad. I should be punished, I _deserve_ it.” Jihoon murmurs softly against his mouth. Seungcheol’s eyes have squeezed shut and Jihoon buries a kiss under his jaw before delivering the final damning blow.

“Teach me a lesson Daddy—make me cry."

Seungcheol’s eyes snap open at that, and Jihoon actually sees a predatory ember spark in them.

“Go back inside. Take your clothes off and wait for me.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon is standing at the foot of the bed, clothing strewn on the floor in a trail between himself and the doorway. He stands a little straighter when he sees Seungcheol enter.  He twists and curls his hands together shyly, and Seungcheol sees just how far Jihoon wants to take this tonight.

"Cheol I..." he trails off, biting his lip again, soft and sweet, used to getting what he wants without needing to ask.

Seungcheol puts a finger to his own lips, signalling for silence and making no move to step further into the room. "No talking Jihoon. I’m very—very angry with you.”

Jihoon takes a breath, lets out a shaky, "Oh, fuck yes." then backtracks—“I mean— _oh no."_

Though tempted to laugh, Seungcheol manages to keep his reaction down to a hum, pushing away from the doorframe. Jihoon tracks him across the room, until Seungcheol sits down on the side of the bed.

"Come here, Jihoon."

Jihoon comes to him, licking his lips, his cheeks already a little pink. Seungcheol pulls him down to straddle his lap, Jihoon putting up an admirable show of resistance.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant. But it’s necessary.” Seungcheol _tries_ to sound sombre.

The task is remarkably difficult when Jihoon’s doing a right shitty job of looking unhappy about his punishment. As it is, there’s a wicked smile curling at Jihoon’s mouth and invitation flashing in his eyes. All that’s missing is for him to start rubbing his hands with glee or perhaps jumping up and down in sheer joy.

Seungcheol levels him a look that he hopes conveys _‘Wipe that smirk off your face or there will be no punishment’_ and Jihoon quickly schools his expression into something more _apologetic_.

“I know. I’m sorry Daddy, I’ve been so bad. I’ll take whatever punishment you think I deserve.” Jihoon murmurs, head bent low.

Seungcheol doesn't fail to notice how Jihoon raises his voice an octave higher than usual and—Jesus—what he _deserves_ is an Oscar for this performance.

He could stand up and order Jihoon into position. But he won't. He knows just how much his boy prefers to be grabbed and shoved and forced to comply. How he delights in being manhandled into place. It's an illusion both of them enjoy: that Jihoon is utterly helpless in Seungcheol's hands; that he cannot refuse when he's no match for such overwhelming physical strength.

An elaborate and satisfying fiction, and one which Seungcheol is happy to indulge.

So he’s needlessly rough as he lifts Jihoon up and turns him around, pulling him down over his lap.

When Jihoon turns his head to peer over his shoulder, there's a fierce blush reddening his skin. His hair is a mess, and he catches his lower lip between his teeth. He looks like absolute heaven.

Seungcheol allows himself a moment to run his hand over the soft, pale skin of Jihoon's ass, up over the curve of his spine as he arches his back.

"Don't, don't," Jihoon says, fisting the blankets, squirming. "Don't tease, please hit me, daddy--" he breaks off on a moan when Seungcheol clamps a hand around the back of his neck, pinning him to the bed.

"You’re not in a position to make requests Jihoonie," Seungcheol tells him, giving his ass one more appreciative stroke before he raises his hand, bringing it down with a ringing smack.

A delicious little sound escapes Jihoon, half muffled in the bedclothes.

Seungcheol smiles, soft and indulgent, and gifts him with a second blow to the same spot, this one harder than the first.

“See what happens when you tease Daddy. Let this be your lesson. Are you going to tease me again Jihoonie?” He says, each sentence punctuated with a slap.

Only a moment passes before Jihoon admits, "Yes, I will. I'll tease Daddy lots in the future."

Seungcheol hums an disapproving sound, and rewards the honesty with another vicious, open-handed blow.

Jihoon muffles his whimpers into the bedsheets.

“Then you leave me no choice but to keep punishing you.” Seungcheol sighs, pausing to admire the redness spreading across vulnerable skin. He strokes his hand over the raised skin just to hear Jihoon moan.

"Cheol," Jihoon whimpers, "Daddy, yes, I--" Seungcheol cuts him short by bringing his hand down again, hard enough to rock him forward.

Seungcheol loves this, everything from Jihoon's soft little sobs to the tingle and sting of his own palm as it pinks Jihoon's gorgeous ass.

He can feel the tension seeping from Jihoon's bones every time Seungcheol's hand lands on his skin. Jihoon is hard against Seungcheol's leg in no time, hips twitching as he tries not to rut and squirm, tries so hard to behave.

When Seungcheol stops, Jihoon bites his lip savagely, trembling.

"Had enough?" Seungcheol asks, running his hand over Jihoon's ass, making him hiss.

"No," Jihoon says, already winded, pressing his face into the bed.

"Tell me what you want, Jihoon," Seungcheol says, stroking his back, a gentle little tease compared to what Jihoon is craving.

"Justt-- don't stop. Keep going," Jihoon says. "Harder, I want it harder, please."

"Anything for you dumpling," Seungcheol says, running a finger over Jihoon's lips and watching as Jihoon's tongue flicks out against it, unconscious.

"Please," Jihoon says, "Daddy, please, more."

Seungcheol raises his hand, loving the way Jihoon tenses in anticipation almost as much as he loves the sob that spills out of him when Seungcheol smacks him again. His fingers leave white prints before they fade into the bright red of Jihoon's skin, the colour spreading down his thighs where Seungcheol isn't bothering to be precise.

Seungcheol [spanks](https://78.media.tumblr.com/944bbbb53bc6d5182eec321d9a2247c0/tumblr_p6z5rp2rhc1vzsa1po1_540.gif) him until his palm is burning and Jihoon's breathing only in sobs, his cock hard and dripping on Seungcheol's lap, his legs trembling where he's still holding himself up, never shying away.

After a moment there's a change of tone in the muffled noises of pleasure. Jihoon's whimpers are softer now, his moans slow and long and smooth.

Seungcheol knows what this means and eases gradually back. He continues to smack the oversensitive flesh, but he measures his strength now. Settles into a steadier rhythm of softer blows, letting Jihoon enjoy the sensations as Seungcheol begins to ease him down.

He slows the pace by degrees, delivering a series of open-handed slaps to Jihoon's reddened ass. More teasing than painful.

"Jihoonie—you know you can come to me about anything," Seungcheol says, and it's unfair to speak to him in the middle of this, but he watches Jihoon nod anyway, struggling to listen. "Talk to me when you’re worried about something, don’t shut me out."

"I know," Jihoon gasps, another hard smack shifting him in Seungcheol's lap and letting Seungcheol feel how much he's leaking, a wet spot spreading through Seungcheol's trousers. "I know, I will, I’m sorry Cheol."

"It’s okay. Such a good boy," Seungcheol breathes, stroking his fingers over Jihoon's ass, and even that touch makes him shake.

Seungcheol flexes and shifts his thigh, letting Jihoon get some friction. "Fuck, baby. You're making a mess."

"Hnn Feels good," Jihoon moans, arching when Seungcheol's fingers dip into his cleft, rubbing over his hole. It's dry and his finger snags on the sensitive skin as he pushes the tip inside, but Jihoon still clenches, trying to draw him in with a needy little whine. "Cheol."

He's floating, flushed and dazed and pliant. Seungcheol hasn't seen him like this in weeks, and he'll do everything in his power to draw this out as long as he can. He'd keep Jihoon in this bed for days if he could.

"D'you need something inside your pretty little hole, dumpling?” Seungcheol murmurs the question into the nape of his neck.

"Yes—fuck." Jihoon says, and it is almost a sob. "You. _Please_.”

Seungcheol slips his hand under Jihoon's belly. "Up you come," he says, easing him up onto his knees. "Get on your front for me."

Jihoon shuffles into position in the middle of the bed, pillowing his head on his arms and watching as Seungcheol stands and undresses.

Seungcheol takes the lube out of the drawer in the nightstand where it's been sitting untouched for over a week now.

"I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week Jihoonie, been wanting to fuck you for days and you made me wait." Seungcheol drawls, crawling onto the bed and kneeling behind Jihoon. “So you’ll just have to forgive me for being rougher than usual.”

A moment of stillness, of silence, and then Jihoon sighs. A long, slow sound. Relief. Satisfaction. Contentment.

Seungcheol runs an appreciative hand over Jihoon's ass, smiling when he whimpers, sensitive and sore. With slicked fingers, Seungcheol teases around his entrance, squeezing his ass with his clean hand, drinking in Jihoon's pained little whines.

"Dadd-yyy," Jihoon hitches out, one hand curling into the blanket, the other in his own hair.

"Shh," Seungcheol soothes, pushing two fingers in at once, scraping his nails lightly up Jihoon's thigh at the same time.

Jihoon keens at the sensation, his whole body jolting, rocking against the intrusion and getting a sharper sting as a result, Seungcheol's nails digging into the reddened skin of his ass.

He's tight inside, clenching when Seungcheol kneads and pinches him, bringing up darker blooms on his skin, hot little slices of pain that have Jihoon arching and moaning, pushing back for more. His forehead is shining with sweat and his hair is dishevelled, a mess against the bedclothes, beautiful.

Seungcheol leans forward just to press his own erection against Jihoon's ass, the skin smooth and hot. He spreads his fingers apart inside him and Jihoon groans, deep and needy, his body jolting.

"More," Jihoon moans, quiet and muted against the blankets, like he might not even know he's speaking. "More—Oh, God, _more_."

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out and uses his knees to knock Jihoon's legs wider, leaning over his back.

"Tell daddy what you want, beautiful," he whispers, rolling his hips to rub himself against Jihoon's slick entrance.

"Ah, ah, ah," Jihoon pants, his words swallowed up in desperation.

 _"Tell me,"_ Seungcheol says, running his fingernails over Jihoon's ass again, making him shiver.

"Inside, want you inside," Jihoon curves his back like he could make it happen right now if he could just bend the right way, "Fuck me, daddy, please _wreck_ me."

"Christ—yes," Seungcheol says, feeling more than a little frantic himself and fighting to keep his calm. "Daddy's good boy." He grabs the lube again and slicks himself quickly, hard and aching and desperate to get inside Jihoon's tight heat.

Gripping Jihoon's hips to keep him steady, Seungcheol presses the head of his cock against his entrance, eyes glued to the sight as he sinks in.

Jihoon is tight when he fucks in, his moan sending a shiver the length of Seungcheol's spine as he forces his way deeper. Even with Jihoon relaxing around him Seungcheol has to move slowly, penetrating farther by maddening degrees. He breathes a shocky gasp when Seungcheol's hips stutter forward, and he fumbles a hand back to grab at him. Finds Seungcheol's hip and grips tightly despite the awkward angle. Urging him on.

" _More_ ," Jihoon gasps. "Oh fuck, give me more. All of it— I want— God, yes, just like that,  _fuck me_."

With a final, brutal snap of his hips, Seungcheol sinks into him all the way. He drops his weight forward along Jihoon's back, breathing a low moan at the helpless flutter of muscle around his cock.

"You feel so good, baby," Seungcheol murmurs, breathing the words into the nape of Jihoon’s neck. “Best thing I’ve ever had. Never going to replace you—remember that.”

Jihoon sobs as Seungcheol starts to fuck him, hard and deep and thorough. He's not looking to tease, just to drive Jihoon out of his head, bowl him over with too much, too good, all at once.

"Cheol," Jihoon moans, rocking back with what little leverage he has, his legs spread too wide to allow much movement. "Please—ahh—Cheollie." But he doesn't beg for faster or harder, so Seungcheol just hitches his hips up, hitting that angle that makes Jihoon clench and arch and cry.

"Daddy's good boy," Seungcheol growls into his hair, "Such a good boy for me, look how you take it."

Jihoon's clenching every time Seungcheol pulls his hips back, arching into every thrust. The headboard hammers the wall, and Seungcheol has to hold Jihoon up to keep him from flattening to the bed, collapsing under the force of Seungcheol's movements, yet he still pushes back for more.

"Such a good boy," Seungcheol says again, hoarse and panting, barely holding it together with Jihoon underneath him like this, taking it like this.

"It feels so good, daddy," Jihoon gasps, "Feels so-big-ah, _ah,_ daddy!" Seungcheol slams into him and Jihoon is gone, just a string of disconnected words spilling from him like a chorus in Seungcheol's ears.

Seungcheol reaches down to get his hand around Jihoon's cock and finds it slick at the head, dripping onto the blankets.

"I want you to come for me," Seungcheol says, catching Jihoon's hand as he reaches back to grab at him. Seungcheol leans back, pulling Jihoon's arm behind him and pinning it there. He lets go of Jihoon's cock, instead tangling his fingers in Jihoon's hair and yanking his head up, making him sob. "Come for daddy, Jihoonie."

Jihoon wails, strangled, and he comes, held in place and just writhing through it, his back bowed in an impossible curve. Seungcheol snaps his hips, his restraint shredding as Jihoon tightens around him.

"Yes, _yes-fuck,"_ Seungcheol gasps, squeezing his eyes shut against the sight of Jihoon below him, but there's nothing for it. Before Jihoon's even stopped bucking, before Seungcheol can gather some control, he's coming too, deep inside Jihoon, releasing his arm and leaning over him again, covering him.

He wraps his arms around Jihoon's chest as aftershocks course through them both, still pushing in, in, in, feeling the wet slide where his come has slicked Jihoon's insides.

When Seungcheol starts to pull out, Jihoon tenses, fumbling at him with clumsy hands, but Seungcheol stills him. "Not done yet," he rasps, feeling himself slip free from Jihoon's body and giving him no time to adjust to the emptiness before he plunges two fingers right back in.

"Ahhn," Jihoon huffs, his legs trembling. Seungcheol follows when his strength fails him and he slides down flat onto his belly, bringing a knee up to open himself wider.

He's oversensitive and Seungcheol loves him like this, loves the way he claws at the blankets, shakes his head, presses back and then twitches away. It's too much and his body can't process it, can't take the shocks of pleasure when Seungcheol rubs at his prostate, over and over, relentless.

"Daddy, Cheol," Jihoon chants it, the only thing he can say at this point, needing Seungcheol to anchor him.

"I've got you, you're okay," Seungcheol murmurs, his fingers sliding so easily, "You should see yourself. You're so sloppy, baby, you're so wet for daddy."

Jihoon starts to whine, one hand coming back and gripping Seungcheol's neck, clawing at him.

"Okay, okay," Seungcheol says, wrapping his arm around Jihoon's middle and rolling him onto his side, exposing his cock for Seungcheol to get his free hand around it. He's half hard and it sounds like it might hurt, but he's still rocking with Seungcheol's motions as much as his body will allow, weak and twitching with overstimulation.

"Daddy...can't..."

Seungcheol hooks his chin over Jihoon's shoulder, nosing at his wet cheek. Jihoon sobs as Seungcheol's thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathering up the fluid that's leaking steadily from the tip.

"Come for me again," Seungcheol says, "Just once more, beautiful, you can do it. You _wanted_ me to make you cry."

Jihoon sobs, tears gathering in the corners of his clenched-tight eyes. Seungcheol drives his fingers deep when he feels Jihoon's back stiffen, works the hand on his cock where Jihoon can't make his body move to press into the touch.

He sounds shattered when he comes, weak spurts against Seungcheol's hand and Jihoon's fingers digging hard into the back of his neck for a split second before they fall away, all the tension leaving him. He's boneless, helpless, twitching and whimpering and unresisting as Seungcheol fingers him through it, drawing everything sensation out.

"That's it--so good."

As soon as he pulls his fingers out, Seungcheol gathers Jihoon up, wrapping an arm around his chest and letting him cling, letting him mouth at Seungcheol's fingers, mindless. Jihoon doesn't pass out, but Seungcheol watches him while he drifts, almost conscious, too wrung out to move but his heart still racing much too fast for sleep.

It's a while before Seungcheol makes himself roll away from where it's comfortable and warm against Jihoon's back, but he does, eliciting a mild, sleepy mewl of protest.

Seungcheol shushes him, reaching for the tissue box on the nightstand. He cleans Jihoon up the best he can, wiping away the come where it's streaked on his thighs, but tissues feel inadequate tonight.

"How about a bath?" Seungcheol asks him, and Jihoon gives a pleased-sounding hum that Seungcheol can only interpret as approval.

Seungcheol doesn't leave him alone, would never leave him alone after he's been taken apart like that. Instead, he pulls Jihoon to his feet and supports him for the short walk to the bathroom and then leans Jihoon against the sink as he turns on the taps, adjusting the temperature so it's nearly uncomfortably hot, the way Jihoon likes it.

The tub is massive, as if the hotel expects their guests to need room for half a dozen people, so while it fills, Seungcheol cages Jihoon between his arms.

"You were so good for me," he murmurs, just to reiterate the point, pressing soft kisses against Jihoon's throat.

He trails the tips of his fingers over Jihoon's ass, the skin still hot to the touch, and strokes until Jihoon shivers, until he clings to Seungcheol's neck, letting out a plaintive whine.

"Shh, I've got you," Seungcheol says, winding his arms around Jihoon's waist.

They stand there, Seungcheol shifting his weight enough to rock back and forth, until the tub is close to full. Seungcheol leads Jihoon by the hand, lets him step into the water before climbing in behind him. Hissing at the heat, Seungcheol lowers them down together, Jihoon lying back against his chest, loose and relaxed.

"There's my precious dumpling," Seungcheol says, kissing the soft, sweaty skin behind his ear. "All better now."

"Daddy," Jihoon sighs, not pleading this time, not strained or desperate or entreating. Content, comfortable, letting Seungcheol know how good he feels right here, how safe.

Seungcheol smiles, tilting Jihoon's head back for a slow kiss.

He turns the taps off just before the water reaches Jihoon's chin, wrapping arms around his chest to keep him from slipping any lower, not trusting him to keep himself upright, sleepy as he is.

Seungcheol has no filters here, whispering every thought into Jihoon's damp skin, telling him how lovely, how beautiful, how perfect and sweet and special he is. Pressed against each other like this, it's as much an indulgence for Seungcheol as it is for Jihoon. He'd never want to pull Jihoon apart like that if he couldn't piece him back together afterwards, with reverent touches and murmured praise.

Seungcheol soon has to reach for the shower head hanging by the taps because Jihoon is close to drifting off.

"Close your eyes" he says, turning the nozzle on to a light spray and soaking Jihoon's hair with it. Jihoon blinks through his dripping fringe, sitting up and shaking his head, sending droplets in all directions.

Seungcheol turns the water off again and squeezes some complimentary shampoo onto his hand before urging Jihoon to lie back again so he can shampoo his hair.

The moan he lets out when Seungcheol starts to rub at his scalp isn't strictly sexual, but it makes Seungcheol feel hot everywhere, hotter than the bathwater. He drags it out for longer than he needs to, massaging the shampoo into Jihoon's hair in slow, soothing circles until Jihoon's slumped so low his nose is half an inch away from being submerged.

Seungcheol rinses the lather away, then pulls Jihoon back up against him with his fringe plastered to his forehead, his cheeks dimpling.

"Good?"

Jihoon squirms, twisting so he can press a kiss to Seungcheol's jaw. "Really good. Thank you, daddy."

The water doesn't go cold, but it's a close thing, both of them dozing in the echoing quiet of the bathroom.

Jihoon groans when Seungcheol pulls him out into the chilled air, and Seungcheol happily does all the work of toweling them both dry and rubbing lotion over Jihoon's inflamed cheeks. He grabs a cool bottle of water from the fridge, making sure Jihoon drinks it all before he shepherds him back to the bedroom.

The bed is rumpled in the most inviting way, and Jihoon wastes no time in burrowing underneath the blankets, not even bothering to untangle them.

He's exhausted, Seungcheol can tell, but there's just _one_ more thing left to round off the evening.

Seungcheol finds it in a little leather case tucked away safely in his suitcase, then moves back to kneel on the bed, running his fingers through Jihoon's damp hair.

"Jihoonie. I got something for you. Look at me, baby."

Jihoon blinks at him, and Seungcheol holds up the frilly, lace [collar](https://78.media.tumblr.com/9a8acd37addbac7bb9f9d2c8229aecc1/tumblr_p6z5nujo4x1vzsa1po3_1280.jpg) for him to see.

“Is that—is that for me?” Jihoon whispers, the look in his eyes unguarded awe.

 _"Well—yeah._ You _did_ send me approximately 500 pictures.” Seungcheol grins, though he sounds less casual and magnanimous than he’d like.

His voice is choked and raw and abruptly he can’t think of anything other than the collar in his hand and how it will look around Jihoon’s neck.

“It was hard to think of anything else after you'd planted the idea in my head, especially after I found the perfect one." Seungcheol says, patting his thigh.

Jihoon bites his lip, wriggling around to rest his head on Seungcheol's knee. The collar fits snug below Jihoon's Adam's apple, and he sighs when Seungcheol fastens it, a contended little noise.

"I love it. Thank you Cheol," he breathes, fingers clenching on Seungcheol's thigh.

"We'll keep it on you for the weekend, yeah?"

Jihoon licks his lips and gives a brief breathless nod.

Seungcheol can hear that hitch in his breathing, feel the way his fingers start creeping further up with clear intent, but it's too late, and Jihoon needs a good night's sleep more than anything else right now.

Seungcheol catches his wrist gently, "Hey," he says, firm, tugging him up and bending down to meet him for a kiss. "None of that. You need sleep you little Nympho."

Jihoon rolls his eyes, but lets Seungcheol arrange him, curled up on his side with Seungcheol at his back, the blankets untangled and drawn up around them.

Seungcheol noses at the collar, presses his lips against it, tugs at it with his teeth just because he can and Jihoon squirms against him, pleased.

* * *

 

They fall asleep tangled in the sheets sometime around midnight, Seungcheol with an arm flung over Jihoon’s middle.

He usually wakes up first, and now, as dawn breaks and the city starts to rouse itself, takes some time to lie there and contemplate Jihoon, flushed with sleep, naked and relaxed.

Well, that isn’t entirely true: in sleep, his mouth takes on a considering pout and his brow furrows just slightly, as though he’s arguing with someone in his dream. Which he _probably_ was, knowing his dumpling.

Jihoon has to be tired from last night; even if he isn’t, Seungcheol wants to let him sleep.

It’s the weekend and they’re got all day together, at least. They’ll order breakfast later, or maybe go out for breakfast instead. He thinks of being out with Jihoon in public, not worrying about his job, just walking around together like any other couple.

Any other couple.

There’s that _word_ _again_.

They never refer to themselves as a couple or say they are together. Seungcheol doesn’t go around telling people he’s single either—just that he _has_ somebody, and really that could mean _anything_.

It’s hard to parse what they have when there’s a verbal contract between them, Jihoon’s camboy antics and of course—the _age_ difference. But beneath all that—there’s _something_ ; Seungcheol’s always felt it, though he can’t quantify it.

Jihoon’s not dating anyone and he got jealous at the thought of Seungcheol dating and Seungcheol knows that _means_ something. But it doesn’t do much to alleviate his discomfort.

* * *

 

Seungcheol has ordered coffee, checked the latest financial news and is sitting on the couch with a magazine by the time he hears Jihoon call, “ _Cheol_?”

"Out here, dumpling," Seungcheol replies.

Jihoon steps into the room with zombie like enthusiasm. He looks bleary, hair sleep tousled and adorable and is he wearing Seungcheol’s shirt back to front?  

Yes, yes, he is.

He takes one look at Seungcheol sitting on the couch and bypasses him in favour of padding over to the tray of coffee on the dining table, obviously doing his best to look alert and sharp but actually looking quite a lot like a drunkard trying to convince a copper he’s sober.

Seungcheol chucks his magazine on the couch and follows, intercepting Jihoon with a back hug before he reaches the table.

Jihoon turns to glare over his shoulder for the intervention: narrow suspicious dark slits, glinting with faint hatred of light and happiness and what the day may bring.

"Your eyes say—fuck off," says Seungcheol, spooning up behind Jihoon and nuzzling at his warm pillow creased cheek, "But everything else about you says—hug me."

"My eyes are telling the truth," says Jihoon, inert, heavy, resistant.

"Yes, you want coffee I know—just let me have a few minutes." Seungcheol scolds him, grinning, nibbling.

Jihoon gives him five minutes nuzzling time before he starts whining about his pathological need for caffeine and Seungcheol has to release him. Though he mustn’t mind Seungcheol’s morning clinginess, as he’s climbing into Seungcheol’s lap not a minute later with a carefully balanced cup of coffee.

“I think this might be my favourite version of you Jihoonie. When you’re still sleepy and all pink and dewy and lovely all over,” Seungcheol says, grinning.

“What? I’m not fucking  _dewy_ ,” Jihoon says, taking offense even though he is flushing head to toe and smiling into the rim of his coffee cup. “Fuck you.”

“Yes, you are. So dewy,” Seungcheol tells him, smiling, and leans in for a kiss. “And you smell like peaches.”

“Hmm,” says Jihoon, leaning after Seungcheol’s mouth. “S’your shampoo.”

Jihoon continues to grumble disapproval as Seungcheol interrupts his sips of coffee with ridiculous, cheesy, made up terms of endearment. When he takes his last sip, Seungcheol rids him of the cup and sets it down to the side, nudging him out of his lap.  

“C’mon—go get dressed.”

Jihoon blinks at him. “Are you kicking me out?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “ _No_ —we’re both going out. I thought we could get breakfast out, and…I want to show you something.”

* * *

 

They leave the hotel and drive to a to high-rise building further into the city. Seungcheol parks the car in the underground lot and they take the elevator up to a newly renovated set of apartments. 

Seungcheol is grinning helplessly with anticipation by the time he opens the front door of the apartment, waves Jihoon in.

“What is this?” Jihoon asks, taking in the spacious apartment with its modern, clean lines, high ceilings and marbled surfaces.

“It’s my new apartment.” Seungcheol tells him.

“You bought a place?” Jihoon gasps, spinning to look at him.

“Yep. That’s why Wonwoo was over—he’s the best realtor I know, so he helped me seal the deal. Apparently this is the trendiest property area in the city. A little _birdie_ told me that.”

“I told you that _. I’m_ the little birdie.” Jihoon says with his patented scowl, like he’s enraged Seungcheol’s giving Wonwoo all the undue credit.

He’s clearly still harbouring that unwarranted grudge.   

“Yes, I know Jihoonie,” Seungcheol says dryly, “So, what do you think?”.

“It’s nice. It’s really nice. A great location, bright and airy and—kind of huge.” Jihoon remarks, strolling with his hands in his pockets toward the French doors of the balcony offering a spectacular view of the city. “Do you need all this space if you’re only in Busan four days a week?”

Seungcheol steps up next to him to take in the view, smiling. He shrugs. “Need to acclimatise to this place eventually. What better way than to own property. Living out of a hotel suite, regardless of how luxurious it is, isn’t comfortable.”

“I guess.” Jihoon agrees with a one shouldered shrug.

He continues to circle the apartment, poking his head in various rooms and inspecting the surfaces, very obviously curious about Seungcheol’s apartment, taking in every detail that he can with his sharp eyes.

Seungcheol leans against the island and watches him, arms folded over his chest.

Jihoon’s changed into the clothes he was wearing from last night; a checkered shirt and a soft-looking navy hoodie, Levi’s and Converse and bulky over-ear headphones hugging his neck, his iPhone sticking out of his back pocket.

He’s gorgeous, _perfect_ —everything Seungcheol’s ever wanted. But he’s also, very clearly, too young for Seungcheol, who wears braces unironically and smokes because it was cool when he was Jihoon’s age.

He thinks about what he’s about to propose next—tries to talk himself out of it and…

“Hey, come here—” He straightens up and takes Jihoon’s hand when he steps close. “There’s something else I want you to see.” Seungcheol says, smooth and calm and easy, because he’s a master of improvisation, of hiding the way his heart has suddenly started jackhammering in his chest.

He walks Jihoon down the wide corridor, pushing open a door to the left that leads into a another large, empty bedroom.

“There’s three bedrooms. One for me, one guest and I was thinking _this..._ could be _your_ room.” Seungcheol gestures, looking discreetly at Jihoon.

Jihoon's face jerks back with shock, which is enough to tell Seungcheol he hadn't guessed the reason for this visit ahead of time. “What? What do you _mean-my_ room?”

Seungcheol takes a step back, holding his hands up.

“Don’t freak out. I’m not asking you to move in with me or anything. I just thought when you did your camboy stuff—you could do it here, instead of trying to fit it around DK’s schedule. You’ve got a lot more room to prep yourself and work with and we could spend more time together that way.”

Jihoon stares at him for what amounts to be the longest minute of Seungcheol’s life. He tilts his head slightly to the side as if to see him from a new angle.

Seungcheol is too good of a poker player to let his anxiety show, but inside he braces himself to be laughed at, rejected and told how foolish he is for hoping, for expecting—

“If you don’t want to—I understand.”

“No—I want to.” Jihoon returns quickly, but his voice has gone missing while Seungcheol spoke. It comes out half-whisper, half-cracked and low, like Jihoon is speaking around some narrowing in his throat. He clears it aggressively, squares his shoulders, “It’s a good idea Cheol. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol breathes, stepping closer. “Cause if that’s too much for you, you can tell me. I won’t be offended Jihoonie, I just wanted you to know when I’m making big decisions like this, I’m thinking of you too.”

Jihoon shakes his head, a small smile curving his lips.

“It’s perfect, I love it.” His Adam's apple bobs as he adds “I just wish there was furniture here so I can _show_ you how _much_ I love it.” He murmurs.

Seungcheol grins and lets that knowledge sing victory in his veins.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Someone mentioned Wonwoo being a sugar daddy too and propositioning Jihoon, but I hate love triangles and although I plan on writing a competitive sugar daddy concept, when I do it if won't be another member of SVT challenging Cheol cause I don't like making one of them the villain.  
> 2) I like to think Cheol is slowly releasing his controls around Jihoon and is preparing for...some serious wrecking smut. Ideas would be appreciated.  
> 3) Jihoon in a pretty collar :-D  
> 4) Also, Jicheol bathing together. :))  
> 5) Thanks.for reading! Feedback always appreciate.


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